Hobbe's Arrow
by Kentasko Redwind
Summary: A lone archer finds himself at a loss when the most unlikely of creatures wishes to band with him.


He tugged at a link in his dark chain chest piece as he waited comfortably at the only table in the Darkwood camp. The Black Jack gambler seated across had fallen asleep after being taught again that not all tricks could be hidden up the sleeves. The two had shared brief and curt words before taking part of the black ale known for in those woods.

_Wearing thin, dammit, _he chided to himself. _Another slash. Two at most._

As the only haven within the barren and desolate Darkwood, he took up a consensual residency in the camp with the merchants. Acting as their guard, they were able to prosper in sales- which went as far as the poor souls who managed to survive the onslaught of hobbes, balverines, and roving bandits. Though barely having the gold or the bravery to buy anything more than his services for the rest of the trail, he split it evenly with the salesmen and card shark, though he usually won it all back from the stingy fool.

_A tour guide, I am,_ he thought once to himself. If touring, he thought, were displaying the innards of the wolven-creatures or the severed scalps of the squat gnomish, then yes, he was indeed a tour guide.

"And a damn good one, ya are," joked the clothier as the four of them sat about their lone fire that night.

As a scragly figure loped up through the stone awning that made for an entrance, the seated man could see the clothing and body of the newcomer. Torn, hairy, and wretched were kindest words he could suggest to the man's appearance. The would-be villager clothes hung at odd intervals, and the fur, for that's what it seemed like, that protruded from them could only be described as beastly.

The resident moved his free gauntleted hand close to his ebony bow, and as if the figure read the warrior's mind, he stopped short of the table, calming his quivering body. He seemed both purely feral and timid in that stance, as if he were ready to attack, or just as well fall over.

"Oi!" the haggard villager called out. "Be ye the Hero what's to help Darkwood... town?"

In response, the proclaimed "Hero" whipped out his guild seal connected to a chain snagged within his armor. "You're to lead me there?" he called from beneath his mop of unkempt, black hair. His dark eyes stayed on point, aimed at the fire rather than at him, and were hardly visible under his eyelids, even were his hair not covering them.

The man growled a laugh not unlike the kind balverines uttered before lunging. An open tooth smile showed rows of canines too keenly sharpened for a human. _Part Balverine,_ he wondered to himself. Possible he guessed, as Darkwood was one of the many uncharted lands since the fall of the Old Kingdom. Of course, no one was bold or stupid enough to venture out there and chart it alone. Not yet, at least.

"That I am, oh mighty Hero," he snarled with such sarcastic gait, which only heightened the warrior's belief that he was something more than natural human. "The village proper be back up through the lake, just past where the gates be 'rected."

The way he stood, the Hero noticed, finally pulling his gaze away from the flames, seemed so unlike posture even the most decrepit. His arms hung down like gangly limbs of trees tired from stretching such distances, and his jaw jutted outward like a block. Reminded him of the elder , Maze, back at the guild, but with an eternally etched Howl tattoo on his visage. Though, upon a second look, it could be told that it was no mere tattoo, but rather the wrinkles and gnarled skin perfectly interpreting the Howl.

"Wha'? Be there somethin' in me beard?" the man asked mockingly with his head cocked to one side. He scratched around inside his thick mutton chops for a moment, pausing as his hand fell across something unfamiliar, then jerked as he followed in hot pursuit down into his tunic. He chuckled as he pulled forth a squirming and still very much alive rat by its tail, eyed it as he raised it above his head, then crushed it in his palm with one quick squeeze. The blood escaping the smothered rodent ran down his fingers and dripped into his open mouth. _Far too calm for what the Quest Card mentioned, _the Hero realized, his expression unchanged by the heralder's actions.

In the Guild, a place he scarcely visited anymore, he took up the quests having to do with his self-proclaimed home. He didn't enjoy the idea of amateur Heroes gallantly tromping through Darkwood, basking in their petty glory, so he took them himself. The latest card told of a village in working progress that needed a protector from a band of Balverines spotted near their building grounds. Likely one of Lady Grey's malevolent pranks to off yet another legendary Hero. Though which part of it she orchestrated was unclear. The building of the town, or the pack of Balverines?

"Just call me Hood," he said as he raised himself from the chair. To most men, he was little more than a head above them. To this thing, however, he came to it at eye level, even as it stood hunched.

"Right then," the homely figure grinned. "Shall we?" He gestured a hand towards the path running parallel to speckled pools of dark water. The Hood took his bow in hand, without sheathing it, and led them down the way.

­

Nimbly hopping over another puddle of ebony water, the Hood spotted the final bandit fleeing the battle scene. With sudden agility, an arrow nocked into place, the bow bent into a deeper arch, and with the twang came a scream, then a final splash as the bandit fell head first into the lake. Or would have, had his body still possessed its own. Stepping over the corpse, and noticing not too airily that his companion was eyeing the beheaded thing with hungry eyes, he advanced to a tree some few yards ahead, where the arrow had lodged itself after passing fully through the rogue's cranium.

Behind them lay a half dozen broad-shouldered bandits, all lying on their backs, oozing puddles of their own life fluids into the water from numerous wounds. Many without their heads or limbs, though not one showed signs of having been slashed, cut, nor chopped. Just holes and forced tears.

"Bloody hell!" the villager exclaimed with sincere suprise, accompanied by an almost fearful stutter in his otherwise firm and gruff voice. "Ye sure know yer way with tha' bow, don'chye?"

Without response, the Hero tugged on the arrow shaft, pulling it clean from the bark and tossing the head directly at the villager, who caught the fleshy thing by it's open jaw. It didn't even realize that it had until it tore it's gaze from the body Hood had seperated it from, and even then it didn't seem to mind having the bandit's final expression screaming up at him.

The two approached a high wooden gate placed before an alcove the Hood had only been through twice before. He never cared to search the grounds, as inside lay only a semi-circular grotto, with rocky walls formed all around. A perfect example of a dead end, for not even trees inhabited that place. A pool of fresh water, yes, but otherwise devoid of life. Now, however, with the gate erected as a shield to unwanted visitors, Hood discerned that construction of some sort had definetely started beyond, if not merely prepared.

On the door read a sign: "Future location of Darkwood Village". The crude and unusual way the written words had been carved into the wood proved again that something more undertowed this quest. Most villagers wrote their signs in black ink with a brush. The uneven lines and scars on the plank told him otherwise.

"Right then, here's the gate," the messenger dumbly pointed out, as if it were impossible to tell that by standing in front of it. "Guess I'll, em, be seeing you around then."

Even as he started off, the Hood sheathed his bow and replaced it with a Master's Crossbow. It's entire length gleamed with silver augmentation, which displayed a stunning array of silver, gold, and a sliver of multi-colored pigments inbetween shades. "You are to show me to the town. Your business is not yet finished with me."

The man stayed with his back turned, having sensed the emenating silver at his back. "I-I don' know wha'cher talkin' about. I-I was jus' to lead ya here and..."

"Look you," Hood stepped closer to the man, prodding him in the back with the silver tipped bolt. "I know what you are, and I know this quest to be a farce. Just tell me what's really behind that gate, and I'll let you go."

He expected well enough the laugh that answered back. Even as it grew in malice, the hair on the guide's skin began to thicken and darken all over. The chuckle soon grew into a stuttered growl, then the heavy panting of the canine creatures so abundant in those woods. It turned on him suddenly, its transformation coming to complete as they locked eyes. Those large red orbs under those narrow slits glared back at him from atop the jutting snout that breathed its foul breath into his face.

It came at him, even at a few mere feet, with it's long claws at the ends of arms that seemd to double in length. It would have had him as well, had it not forgotten the projectile weapon being held between them. The click of a mechanical trigger and a muted yelp sounded the begining and end of the squabble as the two stood there, still looking into one another's eyes.

The balverine shuddered, its sockets now wide enough to allow the opticals to simply fall out. The Hood, however, hadn't changed his grim expression since it had turned on him. Backing away but a foot, he found that the bolt hadn't even left the bow's channel, and was still partially in place after having been driven into the belly of the the creature. Jagged silver lines drew from the wound, stopping the blackened blood from escaping and allowing the magickal serum that came with the metal to seep into the beast's life stream.

Backwards the creature fell, ontop of another corpse, turned around by a shot to the left chest pectoral as it fell. The arrow from that body now pointed up, and the force of the balverine's fall only made it easier to puncture another victim. It gagged on the blood escaping its maw, and stared up at the stars as the Hood walked over.

"You can think it's over," the beast growled, toning its vocal chords to reach human language between gargles. "But there are more. There will always be more." It chuckled to itself, then locked eyes again with the Hero. "Stronger, more vicious, more powerful. More! Long love Lady Grey!"

Hood just crouched down next to the dying thing, looking it back in the eye with little more than a bemused interest. "I'll be sure to send her your regards," he replied as he drew a silver bolt from his quiver. "Of course, I can't make any promises." Down came the bolt between the creature's eyes, sliding through the bone like Skorms fist through the hearts of men. The thing jumped and shuddered for a moment before its eyes glazed over with silver streams, and then it stopped moving all together.

The Hood stood and looked to the gate, knowing now that a town had never been intended construction beyond those gates. At least, no one who didn't see profit there with its unusual features. Flat land, fresh water, and sunlight every once in a while. Very much unlike the rest of Darkwood, which would make for an even better trading port and haven along the foreboding path through the forest.

But before anything could be done, the threat of a balverine pack, which he knew now to be true, had to be eliminated. He replaced his crossbow and stood with his hands on hips, looking at the gate and shaking his head. He pulled out his Guild seal, polished and gleaming unlike anything else on his person. "Looks like I'll be needing to restock," he said aloud, knowing that the Guild was the only place he could find proper supplies. "Dammit."

With a tightened grip, the seal began to glow, his body began to dematerialize from the lake, and he was gone. Not before a pair of prying eyes looked out from behind an outcropping of rocks. The bald white head of a hobbe easily camoflaged with the odd stones of Darkwood, and this one, named Churner, had seen and heard everything. Though not understanding much of what was said, he liked the prospect of having a friend like that Hood around.

Taking his Obsidian Katana, which he knicked off some trader without having to kill him, Churner stalked off back to his cave, where he had begun to collect some of the Hood's deafeats for dinner.

My first attempt at a Fan-fiction. I think I made a good choice, going with a base format where anything is possible.

But what is the significance of a mere hobbe, you may wonder? Well, like the legendary Maxley, Churner... well, you'll just have to find out yourself.

Kentasko


End file.
